Loving Well

This morning I woke up alone to a still house. For the first time in a month — complete silence. There were no good morning’s or how are you’s. There were no hugs or loving pats. I sipped off-brand Keurig coffee instead of my usual freshly French-pressed Ugandan coffee order at The Source Cafe. I…

Interning in Uganda: Source of Life

Musa rolled up to the Source Cafe in his wheelchair. He was looking for me. “Savanna,” he said, and he handed me a black journal. It was his story, an outline of a memoir he previously told me he wanted published. We had met nearly a week ago on a street corner. He approached a fellow…

Interning in Uganda: a Night in the Village

I laid in my firm foam mattress on the concrete floor, listening to the herds of crickets around me. A fellow intern and I had settled in for the night at the home of host family in Bugabula, a village nearly two hours from Jinja. We occupied a concrete back room, just large enough to…

Interning in Uganda: Expectantcies and Poverty

Sometimes it feels like nothing in Africa is convenient. Meetings start hours late, restaurant orders take longer, and power outages occur randomly and regularly. I spent a majority of today attempting to begin creating a website on a computer that has yet to successfully connect to the internet — which is already naturally slow like…

Interning in Uganda: First Village Visit

I cannot imagine living my entire life without ever owning a pair of shoes. Yesterday was our first village visit day with the Kibo Group workers. Me and one other intern joined David and Steven as they visited a village the organization had been working with for nearly four years. As soon as we arrived, a boy walked…

Interning in Uganda: Easing In

We arrived in Uganda long after dark on May 21, recovering from a day’s worth of travel. Westerners formed lines at immigration to enter the country, some maybe for vacation, many probably working with non-government organizations, like us. The smell was familiar to me. The almost sweet scent that floods the humid air and is…

Walking through History

I have always been intrigued by history. Half of my family comes from the mountains of Kentucky, and every year I have taken a road trip down to the little town of Pikeville with my grandmother to visit family members and explore the mountains’ nooks and crannies, and sometimes abandoned houses, too. During one trip,…

An Open Letter from a Student Journalist

Dear adults, please stop assuming you know about my career path or what is involved. Please stop condemning this college student who is still finding and redefining herself.

Monochronic, Mundane

I work too much. I didn’t embrace this truth until this week, when I fell asleep early evening and was late to the next task on my agenda. I was overworked. Why is busyness so appealing? How does it draw in so many young people, just to drain the life out of them? It creates…

In One Spot

Airports are interesting places. As I sit beside my loyal, carved-out Starbucks coffee shop in the Little Rock airport, I am surrounded by people of various sizes, colors and fashion choices. These people have all types of personalities, perspectives and religious beliefs. They are from different parts of the state, country and world, and for…

Honduras: Holy Ground

“Do not come any closer,” God said. “Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is holy ground.” Exodus 3:5 That smell. I will never forget that smell. I anticipated it, but I did not expect it to be so strong, so overwhelming. I thought I would be tough enough to bear…

Honduras: Packing my Bags

I’m leaving for Honduras tomorrow morning — less than 24 hours from now — and I am kind of terrified. My friends tell me there is nothing to be nervous about. They think I should be excited, which I am, but I am also extremely anxious because I am not exactly “in my element,” regardless of…